Elara POV
The night didn't rest anymore. It watched.
Every sound in the chamber carried like breath in a cathedral—slow, hollow, waiting to answer itself. I sat on the cot, hands wrapped in linen, pulse trembling beneath the thirteenth mark. The fourteenth was still new, half-formed, like a bruise that hadn't decided whether it wanted to fade or stay.
The air smelled of iron and rain. Smoke lingered under it, faint but constant, the scent that always came before my memories slipped loose.
I hadn't slept since Theron left. He'd told me to rest, to let the current "settle." But how do you settle something that hums like a heartbeat inside your bones?
The lantern burned low, haloed in gold. The walls seemed closer than they were, the shadows thicker. I pressed my palms together until the ache steadied my thoughts.
